


Boys Can Do It To

by nyasshole



Category: Original Work
Genre: Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Bisexual Male Character, F/M, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Protagonist, Multi, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Esteem Issues, Speciesism, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29935638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyasshole/pseuds/nyasshole
Summary: All creation is perfect.
Kudos: 2





	1. 00 | For The First Time

In a world of monsters, it was not unlike for everyone to be a disgrace. And the feeling of being a shame that does not mend only grows when fed the tight lies, and the wrong truths. It was not by design to be a perfect creature, but the anatomy of a creature was never a mistake. 

For the word of the Lord says all creation is absolute, and all creation is perfect. If a man grows wings that reach the heavens, a man is perfect. If a man is the bane of all plants, then a man is perfect. For the creation is absolute, and believing against it is the work of the Devil. Misery, doubt, self-loathing, and pain were tools created by the creator to humble the creations, to make them realise what paradise means—a world free of all those banes.

For the Devil got a hold of those tools, and now uses them to subjugate the innocent into submission. Planting a seed of fear that becomes a forest of trees that whisper so sweetly one thousand ways to throw away the gift of life.

But the Lord is great. And the Lord plants a seed next to that twisted forest so that blossoms of flowers that bloom hope may help dispel the drowning voices of the forest. Flowers that plant fields of salvation, flowers that teach one one thousand and five hundred ways to survive that forest.

For a forest cannot be destroyed, and it’s impacts cannot be reversed. They can only be tolerated. Set it ablaze, and the burnt bark remains. Drown it, and the roots will remain, the foliage will float. Only the Lord can destroy, not the Devil’s hands, nor one’s own.

For the Lord is the creator, and the destroyer. The Greatest gives life with one hand, and takes it away with the other. By the Lord’s sublime name, the Lord is within all, and reigns as absolute. May the Devil make residence in one’s heart, and may the Greatest be there to evict him.


	2. 01 | The Disgrace and A Disgrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of senior year at high school.

The last year of high school was always a time to feel fear crawling throughout. It was the year when all connections could be severed, and a time when everything just feels so frail.

This year, it felt like a precursor to the next. Seated with his own kind, exchanging prideful eyes. All eyes full of self-fulfilment, all but his own. His own eyes wavered, unable to find focus, a shift in his tummy as if the disks in his spine had lost balance for a second. He knew his kind were not bad, and he knew they were not without flaw. Yet, he always struggled to find footing in a parade that tells every bloodsucker where to enjoy life. Entering an amusement park, and being unable to find the guts to enjoy any of them… Instead peeking at the other parks with equally gut wrenching attractions, but at least they were different.

And that is how Jobia [ joe by ah ] looked over at the other tables. A room divided into five, each table having no more than five students. Seated with the kind that raised him, Jobia longed he was able to seat elsewhere, or in his own world. A place where he did not have to feel the pressure of existing, a place where he did not have to acknowledge everyone around him existing, and he simply wasting away.

For all he was taught to know, he would find more comfort seated with the wolves. The boys and girls who would taunt him to no end, the ones that would bully him in harmony, but at least it would be different. It would be a new way to bleed, but instead, he had to deal with the interrogations about his family.

The bloodsuckers, the race that divided itself through phenomena. The blackest hair, the longest fangs, the ones whose eyes were slit in shape, the ones whose skin rivalled the moon’s grace, the ones that had the pointiest of ears. All things that meant nothing to him, and things he had to head about daily. But he was not without flaw, as his own family were seen to be the ones with the greatest hunger. Whether that was something to gloat about, or be shamed of, Jobia did not know yet. Everyone in his race seemed to apotheosise trivial things, so being a family of gluttony surely would brand him as unique.

Still, he hated to be such. The constant need of nourishment put him in strange situations. Having to find ‘ donors ‘, and having to go through the shameful act of resorting to leeching animals just to sate his hereditary honour.

Being alive was so uncomfortable. He had no desire to die, nor be lost. There was no tingling for another life, nor a longing for his anatomy to change. It was just an aching wanting to be satisfied. To not look at others within his race, and at other races and think of what could have been.

To find love in a body he could not love, it was a trial. But, if he could duel the heavens for the gift of self-fulfilment, he would accept the risk of losing it all. And still, he hated living in a world of fantasy. Thinking about the things he would do never soothed this discomfort, and so, he would find himself staring at his desk. Empty in the eyes, and without trace of interest. To all, it had been only a minute, but in Jobia’s mind, he had lived his desired life ten times over again.

Jobia, the disgrace of all vampiric families. The one who could not learn to be an egomaniac, and instead found new ways to pick apart his body. From his sickly pale skin that greyed out, to his black hair that had a subtle curl that gave away that his hair was not perfectly straight, to the more destructive part of him. To be a boy, to be a girl. His appearance sold the idea of a sickly, weak boy, but his arranged marriage would walk him as a maiden to create the new vanity, or trait for the bloodsuckers to roar about. At least that one bit of chaos was hidden away from the table of gossiping, page-six addicted, eugenicist faux-superstars.

However, it seemed the heavens above had parted the clouds to bathe his tired soul with a blessing light. To be assigned a partner, someone from another table. A subtle response to his silent cries, and he was already in love with what was to come. Even if it hurt, even if he would know not how to grow, it would be new. New ways to bleed, new ways to cry, and new ways to fight for the simple fuel of hope.

Samael [ sam mewl ], the lycanthrope.

Such a scary partner, yet a masochism within Jobia made him stare in wonder. Partnered with the abomination that is considered a disgrace of creation by his kind. 

He was perfect.


End file.
